


Hays Code

by Light_Bending (TotallyARealPerson)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cheaper than Therapy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, TW: Homophobia, venting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24173188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotallyARealPerson/pseuds/Light_Bending
Summary: Why I quit the church
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Hays Code

I still remember it like it was yesterday. Which day it was, I really couldn't tell you. My memories from back then are quite fuzzy. Half that month was spent with a headache. I don't remember most of it.

But it was sunny, that day. Bright and sunny and hot.

She and I were sitting in the shade of a nice, tall building. Just close enough for us to hear each other.

Maybe I shouldn't have expected acceptance (or at the very least, nonchalance). I think that was my big mistake. But I didn't expect the reply.

~?~

"In my stories, I'm gonna make sure to have a maximum of three straight characters, three male characters, and three white characters." I don't think the specification 'in the main or secondary cast' would have helped, if I'd put it anywhere in that sentence.

The smile fell off her face. "Why?"

Oh, the force behind that 'why?' was enough to make me shrivel. But I persisted. "Because it's fun to write. And to make it only for demographics I know is static. And it's fun to write conflicting cultures, 'cause-"

"Okay. Well, what about your cap on serial killers? Or pathological liars? Or rapists? Would you make three of your characters rapists?"

'Oh my fucking god, seriously? You're seriously fucking comparing representation to reprehensibility? Sorry. I've had fucking enough of Hays Code. Go find another shadow spot.'

I wish that's what I'd said. But I'm sure I felt a glass of cold water being poured down the back of my shirt, and it made me rather distracted.

She went on a spiel about how she was a tomboy when she was younger, and how a woman in her old church convinced her to stop wearing shorts so much by citing the bible. Something that I firmly believe was gaslighting. Which makes sense, since she was trying to gaslight me.

~?~

It was church camp that week. An overnight thing. Without use of our phones to discourage not talking with our fellow churchgoers.

I didn't tell anyone what she said. Except for one boy, about my age.

He was safe. I knew he was. He came from across the island, and I didn't know him that well, but two years ago, he'd told me about a friend of his who attended a church that accepts gay people, and even reassured me that "they don't worship the devil or anything". Better than my hometown church friends, who I knew were homophobic from a few previous interactions.

So I asked him about it.

"Hey, Ry?" I asked.

"Yeah?"

"Church camp a few years ago, you told me about your friend, who went to a Christian church that doesn't mind gay people."

"Yeah. I can't remember the name of it. Sorry."

"That's okay. But anyways, I'm leaving the church."

"Yeah. I think I am, too. There's this girl back home I wanna screw, but, ya know. There's that whole 'don't have sex before marriage' thing."

I think I might've laughed. I missed his earnestness. "Sounds like fun."

~?~

We talked for a long time. We talked about specific parts of the bible that said things we didn't agree with. We talked about why I was leaving, and about why he was leaving. And we mutually agreed to leave as soon as we got home.

My skin was itching by the end, and it wasn't just the sunburn on my back. I needed to be gone. I needed to be away from **her**.

I could have gotten his phone number if I'd made more effort. I wish I'd gone the extra mile. He was really good support that week. And I could've used more support than I got in the coming few weeks.

~?~

It took a few hours after I got back home for the adrenaline to wear off.

I'd taken off my fuschia little slip-ons in the car so my blisters wouldn't be aggravated. My mom also didn't like the purple sweat-stain on the side of my foot, and insisted on throwing them out as soon as we got home.

I took a deep breath. "I want to leave the church," I said.

My mom seemed to start at that. I'd been so excited for church camp, the beginning of that week. "Why's that?"

I'd always been a person to say things as they are. She'd never been racist, as far as I could see, and she didn't seem to have any problem with men. However, she'd repeatedly misgendered my female-to-male trans brother despite repeatedly being corrected, so I had a fair estimate. "One of the camp counsellors compared LGBT people to rapists and I don't want to go back to a place with that kind of toxicity."

My father seemed shocked at that. Which surprised me, seeing as he was always vocal about leaving the catholic church for disgust at the archbishops raping altar boys.

"This isn't a whim, is it? Because-"

"No, Dad. I've been thinking about this since February."

And I had been. That was when I told Her about my older brother being trans, and she started misgendering him on purpose. Plus, there was a speech about condemning gay people at around the same time. I hadn't been too keen on church from that moment on. But my parents were big believers in trial and error. See if what occurred before occurs again. And it did.

On top of that, they were also critical of people who acted on whims without thinking. They didn't want to see us do that. So I didn't. I'd waited.

"Plus, ya know, I'm pansexual. And Victor's trans. So."

"Wait, you're pansexual?"

"... Dad, you literally saw me painting the aegosexual panromantic flag. I've got it hung up in my room."

"I just thought it was a painting," he said.

They ultimately capitulated, to my relief. I didn't even want to hear her name again.

I still don't know why my sexuality had to be an excuse. Couldn't I have left on principle? Like, that's what dad did. He was enraged, and he left. But it suddenly wasn't a good enough excuse for me?

I stumbled downstairs that day, and logged onto the computer on autopilot. I started working on one of my more recent stories.

I got a phone call from my grandmother not twenty minutes later. The grandmother who'd been taking me to church all my life. Or, before I have any coherent memories.

She wanted to talk about Madame la Hays Code, so she could be properly dragged through the mud. I gave up her name, hung up, and spent the next five hours crying as the adrenaline shock wore off.

Surprise, surprise. She was never properly dragged through the mud.

From what I understand, she gave a half-apology about how I misunderstood her and she never meant to say those things (even though that's a paradox). My parents and my grandmother begged for weeks to get on the phone with her so we could talk. I never went upstairs once when they were on the phone with her. One of them must have given her my phone number, too, because she called me.

I'm lucky for my paranoia. I pressed the 'deny call' button as soon as I saw the unknown number.

AND THEN MY MOTHER HAD THE FUCKING GALL TO ACCUSE ME OF BEING PETTY AND IT TOOK ANOTHER CRYING FIT TO CONVINCE HER THIS WASN'T ME BEING TOO SENSITIVE. I'll repeat and reword for emphasis: MY MOTHER. GAVE SOMEONE I NO LONGER TRUSTED AND WAS REGULARLY REDUCED TO CRYING FITS BECAUSE I NO LONGER TRUSTED THIS PERSON. MY PHONE NUMBER. UNSOLICITED, WITHOUT ASKING MY PERMISSION. BECAUSE SHE THOUGHT I NEEDED TO FACE HER BEFORE I KNEW I WAS READY.

I put up with a fuck of a lot here. But that right there? That is the fucking **nadir** of garbage from this entire rollercoaster of emotions and garbage and life decisions. My older brother coming out as trans wasn't nearly this rocky.

SPEAKING OF MY OLDER BROTHER. DID I MENTION HE THINKS THAT LEAVING THE CHURCH BECAUSE IF I STAYED THERE, I WOULD BE REPEATEDLY DISRESPECTED AND MADE TO PUT UP WITH HOMOPHOBIA AND TRANSPHOBIA, ISN'T A "GOOD ENOUGH REASON"? BECAUSE HE DOES. HE SAID HE THOUGHT I WAS A PUSSY FOR TAKING IT TOO SERIOUSLY.

Long story short, that's how I discovered my brother is an absolute fucking moron.

And I'm having second thoughts about my mom, too. See, there's a thing about fear and exposure to discomfort. For example, if you're arachnophobic and you go to a therapist for help about your problem, they first might show you a picture of a spider, and after a few weeks, maybe a video of one. It takes a long time for people to be ready to actually hold a tarantula, even with this form of therapy. My mother did the equivalent of dumping a bucket of spiders on me and trying to convince me it was fine, despite not knowing a thing about psychology, and was deliberately taking her side in the argument, even though THEY DIDN'T KNOW EACH OTHER. My mom trusted a stranger over her own fucking daughter. And doesn't that go to show how far I trust in her intelligence so far?

That spider-dumping went on for about a week, during which I think I cried more than I had since I was ten. And she expects me to forgive her with the snap of her fingers. But why? She hasn't given me a reason. Family isn't an excuse, either. What possible motivation could I have for forgiving an enabler?

~?~

My grade six homeroom teacher is gay. He's married, and he has a wonderful husband.

He was my favorite teacher, tied for First Place with Madame Third Grade.

The reason why he's still my favorite is because his primary code was 'respect above all', which I found to be a very respectable sentiment. (Of course, it didn't hurt that he once gave me cake completely at random because his husband made too much food that day.)

The problem is: what happens when someone is no longer deserving of the respect you've afforded them? It's a simple enough question: stay away from them on principle.

Joe? He bullied me for a whole year without ceasing, until Monsieu Sixth Grade told him to stop. That, I can forgive. It's a petty annoyance, and I didn't even realize it was bullying until my friends intervened.

Rosie? She stopped talking to me. We drifted apart. We were best friends for nine years. But it happens, and I can forgive that.

Mme Hays Code? No. Never. Absolutely not. Not even for a second, or a million dollars, or Dijon ketchup. She repeatedly misgendered my brother. She wrecked my trust in other Christians. She made me dread going anywhere near that church. She was partially responsible for the lack of trust I have in my mother and grandmother. This whole situation with her made me realize how stupid my older brother is.

Projection of my blood family's faults in this situation on her is just... easier. Especially when Miss Hays Code isn't a part of my life anymore. It's easier to attribute everything that went wrong to her. Like the knives in my back are just one. Like my loved ones didn't try to make me reconcile with my psychological torturer. Like they didn't give her my phone number, or poke and prod until I was a complete fucking wreck over not going back into a place where I was clearly an easy target. Like they so easily blew past my pleas to respect my decision and let that be the end of the argument.

My mother accused me of hating her today. And the sad part of it is, I don't know if that's true, or how much it's warranted if it is. But I know I definitely dislike the part of her that tried to make me reconcile with a bigot.

I'm never going to forgive her for it.

And the most comforting thing to me is that I don't have to.


End file.
